Bouts of Illness
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Sneezing and coughing and runny nose, itchy eyes, headache, and drowsiness. Wesen or not, it isn't fun. MoNick!sick!fic. All canon pairings.


**Bouts of Illness**

The first time Monroe was sick... Nick invaded his privacy.

Monroe groaned when he heard the knock on the door. It wasn't remotely late, it wasn't lunch time or dinner time, but it wasn't a _good_ time. A good time to die, maybe, but not to palaver with a Grimm.

"What... do you want?" Monroe grumbled as he opened the door, half glaring down at the dark hair of the detective.

Nick looked around, opening his mouth only to pause. "Oh. You look bad."

"Thanks," Monroe muttered, rubbing his forehead. Splitting headache. Pounding behind the ears.

"How did you get sick?" Nick asked, brushing past Monroe into the house. Monroe sighed, ignoring the brushing of their clothes. Nick was in his personal bubble again. He would not be the one to blame if Nick got sick from the close contact.

"Gee, Nick. I don't know. Maybe the same way everyone else gets sick?"

"Why, is Rosalie sick?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Monroe shot back, only sneezing afterward. "Oww... Need tea..."

"I just figured-"

"You figured _wrong_," Monroe replied, sinking onto the couch with a heavy sigh. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"I got a lead on the- Hey, where are you going?"

He probably would have responded with something along the lines of _By all means, if you want to play housekeeper after I puke all over the living room, be my guest_ if he had trusted himself enough to open his mouth. He was just lucky enough to get to the bathroom without falling on his face.

After he'd rinsed his mouth out and stumbled back to the living room, he was about to tell the Grimm off and beg him without really begging him to go home. He needed sleep. He needed his privacy.

Nick was in his kitchen, going through the cupboards.

"What the hell... are you doing?" Monroe demanded, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

"... Tea?"

"... Do you even know how?"

"Oh, come on, Monroe. I know how to make tea."

"... You put water in the microwave and put a tea bag into it, don't you?" Monroe replied over a sniffle.

Nick paused in retrieving a coffee cup. The moment's pause was enough to tell Monroe the answer. He laughed quietly, leaving the Grimm to make him (crappy) tea as he went back to the couch. He couldn't stand there... His head was spinning and his legs were shaking and gosh _dang_ it, he felt bad.

He collapsed on the couch, sinking into the mass of pillows and blankets that he had collected. He'd just sleep here tonight. The thought of walking upstairs made him dizzy all over again. It wouldn't be so bad... He'd just pull out the hideaway and crash.

A muffled curse from Nick in the kitchen made Monroe laugh. Trust Nick to get himself into trouble when he was making tea.

* * *

The second time Monroe got sick... Nick was watching the whole thing.

It was a type of Wesen, and, hell, Monroe couldn't place the type of it but he knew that everything burned, burned, burned...!

"Monroe? Monroe! Hang on, hang on, hang on, I'll look for an antidote." Nick's voice was quick and slurred to Monroe's ears, but even he could pick out the worry.

"Nick, there's no antidote." That was a woman's voice, someone he recognized, so Rosalie? It had to be, right?

"What?"

"No, listen, it's not fatal to Wesen. He'll just get-"

Monroe hadn't been following the conversation but felt he chose a bad time to open his mouth- and proceed to vomit all over the pavement.

"Ew!"

"... sick," Rosalie finished quietly.

"Okay, okay, so, uh, like flu-like symptoms? I can handle that over death," Nick muttered. Monroe barely heard him over his own laboured breathing and teeth chattering.

He was burning up but shivering, he couldn't catch his breath, he felt like he was going to either vomit or pass out out or maybe try to do both at once. He was vaguely aware of both of his companions helping him to his feet. The lurching motion didn't help him at all.

"If he's going in my car, we're going to need a bucket," Nick advised to Rosalie over the spluttering sound of Monroe getting sick again.

* * *

The third time Monroe got sick... Nick had noticed it beforehand.

"You have allergies, don't you?"

"Oh, Nick, do we really have to talk about this?" Monroe moaned, sniffling hard. As much as it was that his nose was running, trying to blow it out or snort it up (gross as that was) didn't help. There was absolutely no relief to this. Not to mention the fact that when Nick happened to show up at his door, his eyes had decided to itch, and itch, and _itch_... And then water when he rubbed them, and then itch some freaking more! It was like the equivalent of fleas without the bugs.

"We don't, but you don't want to talk about the case, either," Nick replied, somewhat huffily. "I'm just saying, sluggishness-"

"-is what I'm feeling," Monroe added under his breath.

"-a feeling of malaise-"

"-is definitely what I have..."

"- and paranoia-"

"Eh, give or take."

"Monroe! All three of those symptoms show up around this guy! You should see his co-workers! They're kind of acting like... like... you, right now."

Monroe blew his nose loudly. "That's low, man. Allergies. No control over."

Nick sighed, combing his fingers back through his hair. "This case is just giving me a headache."

"You and me both," Monroe replied, kneading his fingers against his forehead.

* * *

The fourth time Monroe was sick... Nick had gotten sick, too.

"I warned you to stay away until t-t-" Monroe broke off suddenly, sneezing obnoxiously loudly. The sneeze tore a fresh path of ache down his throat and he flinched. "Until this was gone."

"You had _mono_, Monroe! Mononucleosis! The k-k-" Nick sneezed, "kissing disease!"

"Stop saying that! We don't know for sure! We all passed germs, no matter what it was!" Monroe demanded, feeling his body burning from embarrassment from head to toe. "You'll make Rosalie so much more upset than she already is!" He paused to cough, and Nick cut in.

"How did Rosalie get it, anyway?"

"Said some friend drank off her cup," he grumbled unhappily. "Didn't know he was sick. She got it. I got it. You got it. Juliette might get it."

"How did I even get it?" Nick demanded, only flinching and clearing his throat a moment later.

"Probably the same way, dude. I have identical coffee cups. We probably switched one day." He paused, thinking. "That's really gross, you know."

Nick sighed, curling up on the couch. "This sucks, Monroe."

"Tell me about it, man; I've had it longer," Monroe grumbled in return. That was true, but he was also getting over it- a bit- by this stage in the game. Nick was just getting the first symptoms, which, according to the fussy Grimm, included a severe sore throat and lots of generalized aches and pains. And chills, apparently, because Nick was shivering. "This sucks," he echoed, reaching for his cup of tea.

* * *

When Monroe got better... Nick got worse.

He hated going to Nick's house. Partially because it was Nick's house and partially because Juliette was there. Around Nick, he could maintain his cool. Around Juliette, they had to watch their every breath.

Juliette opened the door when he knocked. "Hey, Monroe. Thanks for coming."

"Uh, yeah. No problem. How's Nick?"

"No better. He won't go to a doctor, and then he mentioned you, so I called."

"So, he's still consciously aware of everything?" Monroe asked as he was invited in. The house reeked of sickness. There was this little thought in his head that said what Nick had definitely wasn't mono. But, you could get a fever with anything and, left untreated, it would get worse. It was just common knowledge.

"Mostly, yeah."

"Did he take any days off from work?"

"Just Friday. His Captain made him come home," Juliette replied, poking her head into the bedroom. "Nick, honey, Monroe's here."

He peered around Juliette. Nick was propped up back against the headboard, a manila folder in hand. He was chewing on the end of a ballpoint pen when he looked up. Monroe made a mental note to tell Juliette to throw that pen away. "Hey, Monroe," Nick whispered, looking back to the folder afterwards.

"What are you doing, man? You need to be sleeping."

"Case to solve," Nick replied, before he slipped into a coughing fit so intense that his stubborn fingers actually let go of the case file to wrap themselves around his ribs.

"That can wait," Juliette stated, sliding the folder away and thumping it onto the floor. Nick didn't look up long enough from coughing.

"You've got apple cider vinegar, right?" Monroe voiced to Juliette.

She nodded, smoothing Nick's hair away from his forehead. "Cupboard to the far right, middle shelf."

Monroe found himself to it, and a mug, and mixed the vinegar with honey and a dash of lemon juice. He took it back into the bedroom. "Make him drink it. It tastes like crap, but make him drink it."

Tasting like crap asides, it stopped his cough. Ten quiet minutes later, Juliette was in the kitchen searching for peppermint and Monroe was leaning against the wall by Nick's bed.

"... You can fix anything, can't you?" Nick muttered sleepily, half smothered by blankets. "Doctor Monroe..."

Doctor Monroe. That had an... odd ring to it. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. Instead of voicing his opinion, all he responded with was a simple "Hmm. No. I don't think doctors get sick so much."

Nick only replied with a breathless laugh before snuggling further into his blankets. When he was asleep, Monroe promised himself, he'd make a run for some horehound and Saltine crackers.

Doctor Monroe... maybe it wasn't so far from the mark, after all.

* * *

**Author has been sick. So, in between feeling crappy, I've written this little MoNick!sick!fic. It's just a oneshot. Nick gets better (Monroe can fix anything, after all xD).**

**I hope you enjoyed. R&R appreciated.**


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